In The Silence
by Emmy1512
Summary: Self Medicating Outtakes - Diary entries from both Alice and Jasper leading up to, and including, time in hospital.


**Mary Alice Brandon**

**Outtake from Self Medicating – Emmy1512**

Read Self Medicating first, or this will just seem like angsty rambling and make no sense what-so-ever.

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**10****th**** of May, 2008. **_(Six months before admission to Greenside Psychiatric)_

I thought I was making progress. It has been weeks since I last hurt myself. But in the space of a few hours, everything has turned on its arse. I am now sitting in a stall at school, wondering how the fuck I got here, and how I am meant to stop the blood now running tiny rivers down my arm. The blade I had used just minutes ago is lying reverently next to me, as if it is something to be venerated. I did, but others see it as a tool of destruction, a way that I cut family's apart, a way to slice the bond between friends. That's all they see this as. It is a way for me to move in and everyone else to move out. I know it isn't that though. This is the thing that I use to keep people from being close to me. I hurt myself, so they can't hurt me.

I'm writing in this stupid book instead of stopping the bleeding. I can't see a point in that at the moment. It's bleeding onto my spare jumper. I'll shove that into my locker later. The teacher will contact the guidance counsellor, and I'll tell her I felt down, so took some time to myself. I will promise that I didn't hurt myself, and life will go back to "normal".

I want to scream. The compulsion to hurt myself is too great. It's like I'm a completely different person sometimes. My thoughts are different, my behaviour is different. Even my damned handwriting changes. But I know these different times are just the emotions.

Emotion changes everything.

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**1****st**** of June, 2008. **_(5 months and two weeks before admission to Greenside Psychiatric)_

It's the first of June, the beginning of a new month, and the beginning of a new season. It's Monday; the beginning of a new week. So why does it just seem like the same damn old shit? Because it is. There is no new beginning. Ever. I will always be the same broken trash.

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I don't know why I bother. All I'm ever doing is lying to people, hurting them. I lied to my mother this morning. We used to be so close. 'Like bread and butter, we go together'. Our stupid little saying, our stupid little 'in-jokes'... they mean nothing now. All I do is lie to her. All I do is make her believe I'm ok. It's not like before... it's not like when I could tell her about everything.

She knew the day that I "fell in love", the moment I failed my first exam. Most parents would be angry about something like that, right? Not my mom; she took my out for a chocolate frappucino and told me that it was ok. That she knew I was brilliant, and one stupid test means nothing. Next time, she knew I'd do better. I got full marks on the next two tests, leading to the teacher to mark the failed one via "pro rata" or whatever. A failed test, never on my middle school records. Not before I was fifteen.

After fifteen and six months, everything started to drop. Slowly, but surely, to the point that mom expected C's, not A's. And a record card saying I was absent often, and when I was present, it was as if I were somewhere else, that was what my mother expected too.

Mom stopped questioning it. She brushed it off as my rebellious stage. Perhaps if she hadn't, perhaps if I had told her the truth... I wouldn't be here now...

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Now? Now I'm sitting in my beat up old car in the work car park, holding a blade to my leg and pulling across. I have enough Band-Aid's in my bag to stop the blood from leaking through onto my work pants. That has happened once. The panic attack that ensued was enough to make me more cautious next time.

I find it amusing that the one thing I don't lie to is this book. A pen and a ream of paper, bound by a spiral. Inanimate tell all my secrets.

_I know that is it freezing, but I think we have to walk.  
We keep waving at the taxis; they keep turning their lights off._

_..._

_When everything is lonely I can be my own best friend._

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**7****th**** of June, 2008. **_(Five months, one week before admission to Greenside Psychiatric)_

SCREAM. PAIN. HATE. LIES. STUPID. WHORE. EVIL. BROKEN. WILTED. DEAD. ALONE. FIGHT. SMILE.

Fake it. Never, ever, cry.

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**8****th**** of June, 2008.** _(Five months, six days before admission to Greenside Psychiatric)_

Have you ever wondered if all those people you see smiling and laughing and joking are really happy?

I mean... if I can fake it that well, surely they can too?

I'm not sure if I hope they're happy or if I hope they're not. If they are happy, it'll give me a little hope... maybe. But if they are faking it... it means I'm not alone.

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**8****th**** of July, 2008.**_ (Four months, six days before admission to Greenside Psychiatric)_

Moods fluctuate, and yet my belief that I am worthless doesn't.

I know it's been a month since I last wrote. Please don't think I've abandoned you, my one friend. Please...

I've been seeing a psychologist. I hate her. She is... annoying. She pretends she understands what I'm saying. I know it isn't possible. I don't even understand what I'm saying half the time.

She says I have "Major Depressive Disorder". A tag the psychiatrist gave me, and told the psychologist to relay to me.

What does what it's called matter? Will it make the feelings lessen? Will it tell me what I am and give me a reason? No. It gives me a tag to hang around my neck and let people read and laugh at.

I want nothing more than to have the pain ended and I will rot in my grave for eternity.

So why don't I do this? It's not that I don't want death. It's that I don't deserve it. I don't deserve the peace, the ease, that is death. I deserve to suffer. I deserve to pay for what I let... for what... for... fuck I can't even write it in the damn diary.

_You got wires... going in._

_You got wires... coming out of your skin._

_You got dry blood, on your wrist._

_Your dry blood, on my fingertips._


End file.
